5x15 Promo Drabble
by nothingbutgoneness
Summary: Doesn't even have a title 'cause it's hella short. I just watched the promo for "Bash," and I wrote a lil' thing about it. SO SPOILERS, OBV. Warnings are hospital setting, injuries, and bashing (not explicitly written). Also reference to previous sexy times.
1. Chapter 1

"Can you guys…" He clears his throat, eyes locked on the too-pale hand between his fingers. "Can you guys give me a minute?"

A pause, and then a couple _sures_ and _yeah mans_. Sam, he thinks, claps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing for just a second too long, but then they're all out, and he's alone. He fingers the IV port in Kurt's hand, afraid to look up.

"I don't know if you know this," he murmurs, "but getting bad news from Rachel is about a hundred times worse than getting bad news from anyone else. She calls me and she's hysterical, like I'm supposed to figure out through her crying what happened. I mean, knowing her, she…she probably accidentally left her umbrella on the subway or something and is going through withdrawal or…" He drifts off.

The steady beeping should have become a background noise by now, something that Blaine's brain has tuned out and assimilated as part of his environment. But he hears every blip, every note that is now the most important sound in his world. His eyes move up to the monitors that don't really make any sense—

_Remember when you wanted to be a doctor, Blaine? Remember when you thought about going into medicine? Would you know something, now, if you had? Would you be able to help him? Would he be here, unconscious and broken like china dropped from a dewy fire escape, if you weren't so selfish, so eager for the limelight? Would he? Would he?_

—until they finally gain the courage to slide over to the black and blue chipped face. His first thought when he walked in was _What if it scars?_ because he won't be able to _handle_ Kurt if he has to deal with facial scarring but now he's just laughing to himself because there is nothing he won't be able to handle with Kurt once he _wakes. up._

"Hey," he whispers, squeezing Kurt's fingers. "What're you doing? Kurt Hummel, you are in the city that never sleeps. How dare you stay out for so long? This—" He chokes for a moment. "This whole city is going to pass you by if you don't wake up. Um." He reaches up to brush a hair away from Kurt's forehead. His skin is clammy and cold, like the subway after a heavy rain—

_Nothing at all like the burning heat of their last night in the loft together, skin slick with sweat and absolutely on fire. Nothing like tongues on torsos and lips on lobes and hands on hips. Nothing like the way the words _I love you _were scorched into his skin for everyone to see. Nothing like the need that seeped from his pores as though his very essence was dependent on the way Kurt rocked into him, on the way Kurt's body surrounded his in a haze of safety and protection and ownership. Nothing. Nothing._

—but his fingertips lingered for just a moment. "Your dad's on his way. I think Sam called him. I'm not sure. They…they said he was really worried about you, and I know how you feel about making your dad worry, so why don't you—just—wake up and be okay, okay? Just—everything will be better if you _please _open your eyes Kurt, _please_—"

"Blaine?" Sam's small voice echoes into the room like a gunshot, and Blaine collapses onto the bed. Sam's arms are there a moment later to pull him in close as Blaine sobs. Angry, horrified sounds rip from his throat as he punches Sam in the chest over and over and over, anything to get the feelings _out_. Blaine _won't_ be made a widower before he can legally drink, before he's even _married_, he _won't_. Kurt _will_ wake up because if he doesn't then Blaine ceases to exist too, Blaine who was never really a person without Kurt, no matter what everyone else says. Blaine breathes when Kurt breathes, and once Kurt stops Blaine becomes an echo in a void, a footnote in the epic poem of human history, a memory for no one to share.

"He'll be okay," Sam whispers into Blaine's hair, rocking him back and forth. Blaine feels the eyes of his friends on him through the window of Kurt's room, but they don't matter. The eyes he needs are closed to him, and until they open, Blaine is a book slammed shut.

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**TUMBLR:** nothingbutgoneness


	2. Chapter 2

**Whoops, I accidentally wrote a follow-up piece. Same warning still apply. Mentions of Finn.**

* * *

He's sitting in the waiting room when Burt and Carole arrive. He had bolted from Kurt's room some time earlier, the waves of suffocating emptiness bashing against his hollow chest until he was forced to run away. He hears the doors open, but he doesn't look up until a soft, "Blaine."

Within sixty seconds of finding out about Finn's death, Blaine was in car on his way to the Hudson-Hummel home. He saw Burt and Carole in their first hour of grief, the broken shell of a mother, the haunted gaze of a father. He had sworn to himself then that he would do whatever it took to never let these people, these wonderful, caring people who raised him better in three years than his parents did in sixteen, who gave him a family that truly mattered, felt that kind of pain again.

But as his eyes locked with Burt's across the tiny, sharp-smelling waiting room, Blaine knew he had failed.

What does he say in this situation? _Sorry I couldn't stop your son from nearly being murdered. Sorry I was so selfish that I couldn't stay work things out. Sorry I was so overbearing that Kurt couldn't stand my presence. Sorry I keep putting your son through so much shit that he doesn't deserve._

He stands, takes a few steps, and hugs his father-in-law-to-be. "I'm sorry," he whispers into the worn flannel. "I wasn't there, I'm sorry."

Strong arms made for comforting squeeze his whole body tightly. "I'm glad you weren't, bud. I don't think this old ticker could handle two sons in the hospital tonight."

Blaine leaps back as though electrocuted. "I'm sorry—forgot—your heart—sit—sit down, let's get you some water—"

"Blaine, I'm alright." Burt's voice sounds distant, like he's talking from the opposite end of a short but cavernous tunnel. "I'm making sure to do all the things you're supposed to do to keep your heart healthy. I'd just like to see my son—unless the doctor needs to talk to me first?"

"No, I can—I'll fill you in." Blaine can do that, he's committed every word the doctor's said to memory. "He's just—he's in here."

Rachel and Sam are with Kurt right now, but after hugging Burt and Carole—Rachel holding Carole just a little bit longer—they leave. Blaine mechanically rattles of Kurt's prognosis and healing times as the parents each take one of his hands. It's been too many hours to count, but the beep. beep. beep. in the background hasn't changed pace.

He's in the middle of discussing some physical therapy options when Carole cuts him off with a quiet, "Blaine." He shuts up at once, taking in a stuttering breath. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." He is. He's had hours to sit at Kurt's bedside and watch him stubbornly not move. He's slipped into this zen-like state in which he exists only in the passive tense. He does not do things. Things happen to him, and he lets them.

"Bullshit," Burt grunts, and Blaine's eyebrows fly upward. "You're talking to two people who have lost both a spouse and a son. You think we don't know what you're feeling right now?"

"But—but Kurt'll be fine. Kurt'll be fine and I'll be fine and it'll all be—fine."

"Blaine, come here." Blaine perches on the bed in front of Carole's chair. "You're not fine."

Blaine wants so _desperately_ not to cry again, but his resolve crumples like a discarded newspaper and he's in her arms, letting her rock him gently. The infuriatingly slow beeps throb in his ears and all he wants is for everything to stop for like a _minute_ so he can just _think_.

"Tell me what you're thinking right now," Carole murmurs, and oh how he missed her.

"I can't help—" He hiccups. "I can't help but think that the universe isn't done punishing me yet. I hurt Kurt, so the universe is going to keep hurting him so I have to live with the knowledge that this is _my _fault, that _I_ hurt him, that there is _nothing _I can do to protect him from the world—"

When more sobs choke his thought off, he buries his face in Carole's neck again. He vaguely hears Burt telling him that this has nothing to do with him, that the universe has forgiven him just like Kurt has, that some people are just assholes, and Blaine knows that he needs to be focusing on Kurt and not his own rising guilt. But with every minute of silence from the beautiful boy in the bed, Blaine is more and more convinced that tonight is the night that his horrific, selfish decisions finally catch up with him for good.


End file.
